The Mark
by beeftony
Summary: Barbara contemplates her future when she's unexpectedly sidelined by a villain unlike any she's faced before.


Moonlight spilled into the darkened room, dragging with it the bleeding sky that shone bright crimson just outside the window, along with revealing the equally red blood inside.

A figure, obscured by shadow like so many things in this dark city, watched the scene with a manic grin. Another victory. She had resisted at first, harder than any other prey, but the knife made her see reason; made her understand that he wasn't killing her, only liberating her from this meaningless existence. Nothing mattered in this world. Nothing but this.

Striding over to where his victim lay, he retrieved the knife from where it had landed in her belly, pulling it out with a hard jerk. A breath escaped her body in that moment, and the figure frowned as he realized she hadn't yet been sent from this world.

He could fix that.

Raising the blade above his head, he was about to carve through her neck when the window burst open and a pair of boots impacted hard against the concrete floor. He looked up to see a dark shape silhouetted against the backdrop of the city, and grinned.

"The Batman," he rasped gleefully, bringing the knife to hover over his chest. "I've been saving a special spot for you."

With that, he plunged the blade into his skin, dragging it down to form one more tally in an ocean of marks.

* * *

**Chapter One**  
Home Invasion

* * *

**Forty-Eight Hours Earlier**

"And another one bites the dust," Batgirl commented as she sent yet another of Joker's henchmen to the floor of the abandoned warehouse that the clown had been using as his latest impromptu headquarters. "I believe that makes ten for me."

She glanced over to see Robin squaring off with another henchman, striking his staff into the ground and using it as a lever to pole-vault into his opponent's chest, sending him across the room. He smirked. "Nine. I'm catching up to you."

"In your dreams, bird boy," she mocked, not even turning around as she flipped another clown-themed henchman over her head, bringing her count to eleven. Joker had an unusually large supply of disposable goons this time around, so she and Robin had decided to have a contest to see who could fell the most. So far she was winning.

The Boy Wonder's only response to this was to hop backward as two more of Joker's lackeys came charging at him from opposite directions. He grabbed the backs of each of their heads and slammed them together, then raised his legs up and leapfrogged over the pair, flipping once as he drove his feet hard into the face of a third goon.

Okay, now she wasn't winning anymore.

"Looks like my dreams are coming true," he boasted as he effortlessly ducked another punch. "Now lets see if I can get these mooks to turn into supermodels."

"Please don't," she responded, sweeping the nearest henchman off his feet before flipping over another and driving her boots into his back so that he toppled and slammed hard into the first just as he was trying to get up. Still in the air, she grabbed a third goon by his shoulders and swung around, planting her feet on the ground and using the momentum she'd built up to hurl him into the nearest wall.

"Try and match _that_!" she challenged, only to see that while she had been busy with those three, Robin had sent two more to the ground, leaving them tied at fourteen apiece.

"One left," he announced as they both set their sights on the one remaining mook, who by this time was practically wetting himself.

"Mine!" they shouted simultaneously before sprinting at the goon who had been reduced to a mere tie-breaker. He barely had time to whimper before two boots impacted his face, sending him to the floor several feet away.

"Oooow..." he moaned.

"I got to him _first_!" claimed Robin, thrusting a thumb toward his chest.

Batgirl rolled her eyes under her mask. "Oh please, you were half a second behind me. Victory once again goes to _moi_."

"Nuh-uh! What would _you_ know about timing?"

"Well for one thing I'm the only actual athlete out of the two of us."

"Yeah, but if you're half a second off on a trapeze act it could mean the difference between life and death. I'd know if I hit him after you."

"You wouldn't know your own ass if you bent over to sniff it," she retorted rather crudely.

"My, my, someone's got a potty-mouth," a voice from above interrupted, and they put their quarrel on hold for a moment to glare at Joker, who was watching them from the catwalk about fifteen feet up. "Do you kiss your mother with it?"

"No, but I got in a pretty good night with yours," Robin cut in, even though the question hadn't been directed at him. He could never resist a setup for one of those jokes.

A normal person would have reacted with umbrage to such a statement, but Joker was most definitely _not_ normal. "Oh, that's so good to hear," he responded, clutching his hands together and raising them next to his face. "Her social life has been so _dead_ lately."

Batgirl stuck her tongue out in disgust. "Ugh, thank you very much for _those_ mental images." She shook her head in an effort to clear it. "Ready to give up, Joker?"

The clown let out a wild cackle, producing a remote from somewhere in that ostentatious outfit of his. "_Hardly_," he retorted. His finger hovered over the button. "While you were busy dealing with my henchmen, I put the finishing touches on my device. In a few moments all of Gotham's shipping district will be buried under a cloud of Joker Toxin!"

Without wasting another moment, he donned a gas mask and pressed the button, then waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

After about ten seconds of waiting, he turned to glare at the device like it had betrayed him. "What on Earth...?" he muttered, shaking the remote a few times before mashing down on the button. "I could have sworn all the fuses were in place..."

"Looking for these?" a voice called out of the shadows just before a pile of wires fell from the ceiling and clattered on the catwalk. Joker looked up to find whoever had dropped them, then widened his eyes in horror as a dark form plunged from the rafters and landed on top of him.

"Oooooh..." the clown moaned before losing consciousness.

"Good work, you two," Batman congratulated them as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and put them around Joker's wrists.

"Thanks," Batgirl replied. "Say, did you happen to see which of us got in the last hit there?"

The Dark Knight raised an eyebrow under his mask.

"It's kind of important," she urged.

"Robin," he declared after a moment.

"Ha ha, yes!" The Batman's official sidekick shouted in celebration as he thrust his fists into the air. "In your _face_!"

Batgirl scoffed. "That is so not fair! I'll bet you didn't even see!"

"I didn't," he confessed.

"Well then why did you say _he_ won?"

"You asked."

She growled and pulled her arms to her sides in frustration. "This is _so_ favoritism, you know!"

"You're just mad 'cause you lost," Robin mocked. "Too late: the Bat has spoken."

Batman just stared at them with his perpetually neutral expression. "If you're _quite_ finished," he began, "I could use your help restraining the rest of Joker's henchmen until the police arrive."

"Aye-aye, Cap'n," she replied with a salute, then produced a set of cuffs. "But I only have the one pair of handcuffs."

Reaching into his utility belt, he pulled out exactly twenty-nine restraining devices and tossed them at her feet.

"Just get started."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, then flashed a grin at her partner. "Bet I can get 'em all cuffed before you can."

Robin smirked. "You're on."

* * *

After the police had loaded Joker and his henchmen into several vans, the trio parted ways. Batman offered her a ride home, but unless he was going to let her drive the Batmobile she really wasn't interested in riding in a vehicle that was only designed to comfortably seat two. Actually there was a back seat, but she wasn't about to share a car ride with Robin again.

'_Besides_,' she mused as she jumped across the span between rooftops, '_After all that time he spent ignoring me, you'd think Batman would remember that I'm still technically freelance._'

She would be lying if she claimed she weren't still bitter over Robin being named The Batman's official sidekick when she had been trying to gain his acceptance for months. Finding out that he was Dick Grayson, the child acrobat who'd lost his parents to a tragic accident (though she had her suspicions that foul play had been involved) mitigated the scorn somewhat, and made it difficult for her to really begrudge him this opportunity. At the same time, his infuriatingly immature personality and her own stupid pride often made him difficult to get along with.

'_And let's face it, Barb; you've got a bit of a competitive streak in you_.'

Tonight's events had proven that, and while she was still sore over losing via arbitration from someone who hadn't even witnessed the final blow, at least she had shown him that she was better at handcuffing (Commissioner's daughter for the win). Part of it was wanting to demonstrate that she made the better sidekick, but she couldn't deny that sometimes she just wanted to prove that she was _better_, period. That was why she'd pursued athletics in the first place.

As she reached the edge of the final warehouse, she extended her arm towards the closest skyscraper and fired her grapple, leaping off into the night. Only a few blocks to the apartment.

'_Batman might have the cooler car, but _this _is never getting old_,' she thought in satisfaction as she swung through the air. While she may have gotten into this whole hero thing to stop her former best friend from annihilating all of Gotham in favor of plants, the thrill was definitely what kept her going. She felt unstoppable, and she didn't see that changing anytime soon.

A few minutes later she had arrived at the apartment building. Ducking into a side-alley, she quickly glanced both ways to make sure no one saw her, then produced a key from her utility belt and undid the lock on a nearby door. Opening it, she moved down the stairs and into darkness.

It was an old maintenance cellar that nobody used anymore, having been rendered obsolete by the new facility located on the opposite end of the building. She had discovered it by chance one day and decided to commandeer it as her own makeshift headquarters. There was a bed, a punching bag and some weights, along with a work bench and bulletin board for all her conspiracy-theory needs. There was also a computer for research, though she had to rely on a model that had apparently existed alongside the dinosaurs. She'd be springing for an upgrade as soon as she saved up her allowance.

Overall, it was no Batcave, but it served her purposes well enough. It was an especially useful place to stash her costume, since she couldn't hide it in her room for fear of the closet checks her father had been randomly performing ever since Pam had convinced her to try a sip of wood alcohol back in middle school. It was a wonder he hadn't pieced it all together by now.

Sighing contentedly, she doffed her cowl and peeled off the tights, hanging them in a nearby closet before striding casually over to where she had left her change of clothes. Once she looked the part of mild-mannered Barbara Gordon, high school student, she adjusted her hair to its usual style before heading back up the stairs.

She had just locked the door behind her when a dark figure rising out of the shadows made her jump into a defensive stance. "I know martial arts!" she blurted out for lack of anything better to threaten him with.

The stranger threw his hands up immediately, and the headlights of a passing car revealed that he was just another transient hobo. "I surrender!" he wheezed.

Barbara sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you," she promised, and he lowered his hands. "Just... don't sneak up on me like that."

"Ah, I gotcha," the homeless man nodded. "Still a bit jumpy after all these years m'self. I was in 'Nam, y'know."

'_Name me one homeless guy in this city who wasn't_,' she decided not to say out loud. "Uh... that's great. I'll be going now." She started to back away slowly.

"Take care," he called after her as soon as she was back on the sidewalk. "Hey, can you spare some change?"

"Sure," she responded, digging into her pocket and tossing him a crumpled wad of singles. "Don't spend it all in one place."

The hobo simply laughed and returned to leaning against the wall.

'_I meet the most interesting people in this city_,' she mused as she strode swiftly towards the front door of the apartment building.

Back in the alley, a pair of eyes watched her depart. As the only other person occupying the space between the buildings smiled and counted his money, the figure skulked quietly toward him. A moment later, the money changed from green to red.

Pulling out the knife from where it had slashed the man's throat, the figure wiped it clean before dragging it across his forearm to create another tally.

* * *

"I'm _home_!" Barbara called out as soon as she got in the door. She located her father sitting in front of the TV. "How was your night off?"

"Getting in awful late there, Barb," he observed as she got herself a soda out of the fridge. Crime fighting really made her thirsty.

"Oh, yeah, I was at the library studying for a test," she lied. Growing up with a cop for a father had made her shockingly good at deception. She took a sip of the soda and plopped down in the nearest chair. "I swear, it never ends."

"Well, education is important," he remarked before turning his attention back to the TV.

"_Another_ police procedural?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you get enough of that in real life?"

"I like to point out all the mistakes they make," he explained.

"Ah, mocking fuel. I can dig that."

They sat there and watched the program, pausing occasionally to ridicule the characters onscreen.

"Holy crap, he's _actually _beating him up in front of a camera," she remarked as the detective character tried to pummel a confession out of the suspect inside the interrogation room. "No way _that_ testimony's gonna hold up in court."

"Well, his partner is coming in to restrain him now."

"Yeah, but I'll bet you anything he still has a job by the next scene. In real life they'd be sharing a cell."

The Commissioner chuckled. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Barb, there's been times I've wished I could get away with that."

"You could always try. I mean really, only the Mayor has the power to fire you."

"I think I'll stick with the book," he decided. "That's what separates us from them."

Barbara frowned. "Does that make The Batman one of 'them?'" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you getting at?"

"He's a vigilante, isn't he? That's not what I'd call doing things 'by the book.'"

Her father sighed. "The way The Batman does things is... complicated," he tried to explain. "Actually he's shown a lot more restraint than most of my officers. His methods aren't exactly conventional, but he's a great help."

"I see," she replied. "And what happens when he stops being helpful?"

He frowned. "Barbara, what's bothering you?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "Let's just watch the rest of this."

He looked like he was about to say something, but whatever it was would forever remain a mystery as he turned back toward the television.

After the show was over, Barbara stretched her arms and stood up. "I think I'll be heading to bed now. Good night."

He nodded. "Good night."

With that she headed off to her room and shut the door behind her, then frowned again. She knew that what she was doing wasn't exactly legal, but she'd never really faced the various recriminations Batman had to endure when he'd first surfaced a few years ago. He had paved the way for masked superheroes in Gotham, but there were moments like tonight when she was reminded that her activities were only tolerated as long as she was being "helpful." If she stepped any further outside the law, would he come after her?

Barbara sincerely hoped she never had to find out.

Was this what she wanted to do with the rest of her life? Hiding an entire side of herself away from the man who had raised her all on his own? Who loved and trusted her more than anything? She hated lying to him more than anything, but as long as she was serving a higher cause, she was able to rationalize it.

Sighing, she resolved to think about it in the morning. Taking a few minutes to brush her teeth and change into a nightshirt, Barbara shut off the lights and climbed into her bed, letting the car horns from the streets below be her lullaby.

* * *

She woke not with a scream, but a hushed whisper as she spotted a dark shape hovering over her. In the moment it took her to remember where she was, the figure had pressed a knife against her throat.

"Shh," he urged, smiling wickedly. "There's nothing to fear. I'm only setting you free."

"Set _this_ free," she retorted, slamming her fist into the side of his head.

The blow caught the intruder off guard; apparently he hadn't expected her to retaliate. As soon as the knife was away from her neck she pressed her advantage, shifting her body into a position where she could drive her legs into his stomach, pushing him into the far wall with a loud crash.

Grunting, the invader stood up and chuckled darkly. "It's amazing how far the body will go to resist what the soul desires. You're only a zombie now. I'm trying to make you truly human."

So she was dealing with a crazy person. Good to know.

"Buddy, you have _no_ idea who you're dealing with," she snarled, rolling out of the bed to stand up in a defensive position.

"Nor do you," he replied before brandishing the knife again.

Before he could move forward, the door to her room slammed open and her father rushed in with his gun already drawn and a flashlight in his off hand. "Barbara!"

"Right here, Dad!" she informed him.

The intruder squinted against the bright light, holding his hands in front of his face so that neither of them could get a decent look. A moment later, he turned and leapt out the window.

They rushed over to where the figure had defenestrated himself, only to see a trail of sparks as he slowed his descent by digging his knife into the side of the building. Her father reached into his robe and pulled out a phone.

"This is the Commissioner," he told the 911 operator. "I need units to search the area surrounding my apartment for a bald man with several tattoos. Suspect is armed and dangerous."

After answering a few more questions, he hung up and looked at her with concern. "Are you alright, Barbara?"

"I'm fine," she insisted.

"You're sure? You look pretty shaken up."

She supposed she did, but she wasn't about to crumble when that madman was still on the loose. She glared after him until he dropped out of sight.

A few minutes later, officers showed up at their door. The Commissioner went off to brief them on the attempted murderer, and Barbara took the opportunity to duck into her room and pull out her phone.

She had another kind of backup to call.

* * *

Author's Notes: So I've been re-watching _The Batman_ lately, and I'm amazed at how well it holds up. It's inspired me to write this, and I hope you enjoy.

Most of you have probably figured out what villain I'm going with by now. Yeah, there's a reason this guy never showed up in the cartoons.

Let me know what you think!


End file.
